


Mon Lapinou

by Blink23



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Everyone loves Feuilly, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 05:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15236829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink23/pseuds/Blink23
Summary: “You have a baby,” Grantaire says, stupidly, "We don't have a baby, do we? I mean, we didn't have one when you left for work this morning. Unless we did? Or this is this a surprise? Or an early birthday-slash-late Hanukkah present? because I know I said I was cool with celebrating the Jewish holidays with you but this? Maybe not what I wanted."Enjolras just sighs in response.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason I really wanted to write Enjolras being a natural with a baby, since I don't think I've every actually seen that and... this happened. I don't even know guys.
> 
> From what I remember of my shitty high school French Mon Lapinou means my little bunny, and is something you'd call a little boy affectionately.

They haven’t held meetings since Jehan finished school and Enjolras passed the torch to some equally passionate second year, but the habit of it has stayed the same, especially now that Eponine and Musichetta have taken over the Musian’s lease. Every Thursday they pile into the upstairs dining room of the cafe at 7pm on the dot, and dissipate around 8:30. They talk, and have a few drinks catch up with their now too busy adult lives, and go home. It’s normal, and comfortable, and never changes.

Until, of course, Enjolras shows up one Thursday in February, twenty minutes late, with a baby strapped to his chest.

He's impeccably put together as always, not even looking stressed, only this time there’s a beanie clad infant under the open lapels of the maroon trench coat he’s so fond of. It would normally be enough for Grantaire to absolutely melt, but his mind can’t get past the fact that his boyfriend has a baby, what the hell.

“We’re all seeing this, right?” Musichetta says to the room at large, shoving her glasses up her nose.

Enjolras doesn’t seem to notice the disturbance, dropping his satchel as well as the baby bag. He removes his scarf and coat, and then the tiny fair isle hat from the baby, releasing a riot of curls. 

“Enj,” Bahorel manages, “Do you want to share with the class?”

Enjolras looks down at the child, and runs his fingers through the dark head of hair. “This is Hugo.”

“That’s nice,” Courfeyrac hums, “But would you mind tell us where, exactly, he came from?”

“Well, Marcelo, when two people love each other very much-”

“Yeah, now is not the time to be funny,” Combeferre interjects.

“You always complain I’m too serious.”

“When you show up with an infant and your boyfriend looks like he’s about ten seconds away from a panic attack, you have an excuse.”

Enjolras exhales hard through his nose, wrapping an arm around the baby and reaching to unclip the carrier holding him from behind. In a few seconds the whole thing is tossed on top of the baby bag, and they get the first sight of Hugo, who’s surprisingly alert. Enjolras sits, and begins to remove Hugo's jacket as he hides himself as best he can in the stuffed bunny he's clutching, shy in the face of such a large group of strangers. 

The shirt he’s wearing ( _Handsome Like My Daddy!_ written in english) nearly sends Grantaire into hysterics.

“R?”

“You have a baby,” Grantaire says, stupidly, "We don't have a baby, do we? I mean, we didn't have one when you left for work this morning. Unless we did? Or this is this a surprise? Or an early birthday-slash-late Hanukkah present? Because I know I said I was cool with celebrating the Jewish holidays with you but being a dad? Maybe not what I wanted."

Enjolras sighs, and Grantaire suddenly remembers the first time he’d been on the opposite end of that exasperated sigh, when he was in his final year of university and Enjolras had been the scary/hot first year Bahorel knew trying to get him to care about how badly love locks were destroying the bridges over the Seine.

"Why are you nervous? You only babble when you're nervous." 

"I don't know, maybe because I unknowingly became a dad sometime in the last 12 hours due to one of your schemes? Usually I just get arrested, so this is really not cool, Enj." 

"That was only twice," Enjolras says, defensive, "And the second time was more due to Sous being a dick, which, if I remember correctly, got him a broken nose thanks to Bahorel's fist."

Grantaire tilts his head to concede to his point. He's not technically wrong on it being Claquesous' fault, but then a lot of the negative attention they got back in college was due to the guys at Patron-Minette. After Montparnasse started dating Jehan they more or less got the ABC to form a truce with the guys at the tattoo shop, but he still avoids him when he can. He doesn't exactly trust any of them really, except Monty, but that's because everyone knows Jehan is worshiped by their boy almost as much as Enjolras is by Grantaire. He'd rather throw himself off a bridge that disappoint Jehan. 

"He's not our son, anyway. He's my client.”

"...And?" There had been a minor victory, something to do with orphaned refugee children under two being allowed French citizenship if they met some sort of deadline for registering, and therefore allowed to be placed in foster care system. Grantaire hadn’t paid full attention when it happened, figuring it wouldn’t do nearly enough, but Enjolras had been first in line to volunteer his services as a lawyer for the organizations that were handling the switch over. He had gone along with the requirements that he had to be involved in to make sure his boyfriend wasn't a child trafficker, mostly the home inspection and interviews, even though it made his anxiety insane. 

If he would've known it would lead to this, he would've said no.

“And the family they were going to place him with were _awful_ at their interview,” He murmurs, Grantaire distracted by how Hugo cuddles back against his boyfriend, his cheek on his chest and tiny hand not in his mouth clenched around Enjolras' thumb, “They seemed like an okay couple until the husband sat down and went on some rant about islamic terrorists and that they would raise him the right way, which of course meant thinking that muslims and jews and people of color were evil. Salome – she’s the woman in charge of placement - and I both agreed that this whole thing wasn’t a good idea and rejected him. The only thing is, after him, we didn’t have any applicants left for the placement of an infant between twelve and eighteen months. Salome was worried about putting him in a group home, as some of them can be really, really dodgy and awful, and we'd more than likely lose track of him, which could lead to him being screwed over for citizenship and his residency lapsing. Since I’m approved to work with kids and have the credentials, I guess… I sort of… volunteered?”

Eponine frowns, “they just let you have him? That seems irresponsible.”

“I had to take the childcare seminars and do all the interviews and background checks to foster in case a child had to be removed in an emergency and we had nowhere to put them. My boyfriend being a former refugee helped-”

“I was raised in Lyon by my Aunt,” Grantaire huffs, the subject being a sore one, “And me and my sister were born in _Kuwait City_. Being Palestinian doesn’t automatically mean I’m a refugee like him, what happened to me isn't-”

“The same, I know that, don’t you think I’d-”

“I know,” He sighs, “I just- this is kind of… a lot. Even for you.”

Enjolras blinks at him, “You like kids. You _teach_ kids, R.”

“I teach art at a lycée, and do it mostly because my kids do their own thing and I'm only there to babysit so they don't skip entirely or huff glue. Slight difference. Also we're not raising them full time and responsible for their well being and upkeep.”

“We get a stipend,” Enjolras explains, clearly a little annoyed, “Enough to cover his costs. Food, clothing, daycare, any sort of expenses. The whole thing is temporary, since it’s based off my clearance to work the kids. We're not talking forever, R, God."

Grantaire groans, rubbing his temples. He's right, in a way; Grantaire doesn’t mind kids, not really, he just doesn’t know what to do with them when they’re small. When they’re older and can talk in sentences and use the bathroom on their own he’s totally fine with being around them. He taught primary school for a year and even enjoyed it sometimes. But Hugo is a baby. He doesn’t know how they’re going to manage this whole thing.

Or, well, how he’ll manage it, since Enjolras is beaming at Hugo as he looks around the room at their friends, totally smitten and ready to call Salome and ask about home inspections and adoption paperwork.

"Enj?"

Enjolras tears his eyes away from the baby to look at Feuilly.

"Hm?"

Feuilly puts out his hands.

Hugo looks at them, and then pulls away slightly to look at Enjolras, who smiles, before holding his own tiny arms out so Feuilly can pick him up and settle him into his own lap. The two of them stare each other down for a few moments, frowning, before Hugo tilts forward, propping his chin up on Feuilly's chest.

“Oh, you are a cutie,” Feuilly says, booping him on the nose and making him giggle. From his shoulder, Bahorel makes a ridiculous face, and Hugo lets out a cackle.

That seems to break the ice, and suddenly he’s passed from person to person, lapping up the attention happily. Joly checks his sight with his fingers, noticing he’s crossing his eyes oddly (which he isn’t, apparently, since Bossuet mouths that Hugo's fine over his shoulder at them all) and Combeferre speaks softly to him in Fula, Musichetta interjecting occasionally (‘Sharing hair tips,’ she deadpans when Enjolras asks what they're saying.) Marius gets flustered when he’s deposited into his arms and Cosette tells him he looks sweet with a baby on his hip, and even Eponine, who's used to four small siblings and immune to the charms of babies, cracks a smile at the kid.

“We don't have to say yes,” Enjolras explains, while everyone is distracted by Jehan as they bounce the stuffed rabbit along while making up a story, Hugo enraptured, "The whole thing is temporary, R, I mean it. Once they get a new foster family approved, he’ll be gone. Salome said if we actually want to foster him, or… or whatever, she can help with the back and forth. But unless we make the call, it is temporary.”

 _Unless I make the call, you mean,_ Grantaire thinks. 

"You want him, though." 

Enjolras frowns, "I don't know if I want him as much as I feel like he deserves something better. His mother came into the country alone, and died in childbirth. The midwife who helped birth him gave him the name. That’s about all we know; we don't have a clue if he's Syrian or Iraqi or Kurdish or even if his parents were displaced from the West Bank and living in Iraq when things got bad. Most kids we encounter have someone who will at least know _something_ about them, a last name or a place of origin or something. He has nothing; his life is just... unstable, not that it wouldn't be if he had a family, but still. Every kid deserves a little stability in their lives, and if we can give him that..." Enjolras shrugs. 

Grantaire scrubs a hand across his face, "And I thought your white savior complex couldn't get any worse." 

"Asshole," Enjolras scoffs, but his lips twitch into a smile. He holds Grantaire's gaze, his eyes crinkling just so, and Grantaire is reminded that he can't deny him anything, and never could. 

“He smells,” Gavroche whines, shattering their moment and holding Hugo out at arms length to Grantaire before Enjolras swoops in to take him, "They finally let me play with him and he's got a full diaper."

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” Enjolras says, smiling easily as if he doesn’t have a one year old covered in shit in his arms. 

Once Enjolras disappears downstairs with the baby Feuilly and Bahorel take that as their cue to leave, Feuilly having work in the morning. When he gets to him he pulls Grantaire to his feet for a tight hug, hooking his chin over his shoulder. 

“You’ll be fine, R,” Feuilly insists, hugging him tight, “trust me. A guy who doesn’t know what exactly he’s doing but tries is way, way better than someone who doesn’t care.” 

He relaxes in Feuilly's arms at his words, giving him a squeeze in thanks. 

Bahorel wraps an arm around him when Feuilly pulls away to go say goodnight to Cosette, and kisses the top of Grantaire’s head, “Dude, trust my husband. He has more experience with all this shit than any of us will ever have, except maybe Cosette.”

Enjolras returns in the knick of time with a clean baby and receives his own hug, the both of them pausing to kiss Hugo on the forehead before they're down the stairs and out the door.

“Your turn,” Enjolras grins, setting him in Grantaire’s lap before wandering to the edge of the room to talk to Joly.

“Hi,” He says, awkwardly, but Hugo doesn’t seem to pick up on it, instead just staring at him with his big green eyes.

Grantaire waits for him to start crying, or throw a temper tantrum like his niece does when his sister sets her on his lap, but instead Hugo sits, watching Grantaire with his thumb in his mouth, letting him drink his beer and talk to Courf. After a few minutes he sits up a little to scan the room, letting out a little grunt and reaching for the bunny that Jehan had put on a show with earlier, and Grantaire has to lean over the table and retrieve it, but other than that he seems content just to sit and be held.

It's only when Montparnasse and the rest of the crew stomps up the stairs, no doubt to collect Jehan, that he does anything, frowning and curling in closer, wary of new people. Claquesous comes first, pausing to kiss to Musichetta’s cheek and slap the back of Bossuet's bald head before rounding the tables to sit with Eponine, ignoring the small child completely, while Babet and Montparnasse freeze.

“That’s a baby,” Babet says, confused.

Hugo’s fists clench Grantaire’s shirt, tugging himself up to his feet so he can hide his face in his neck, “Yes.”

“He’s one of my cases,” Enjolras says, an edge to his voice, as he moves to sit next to Grantaire. One of Hugo's tiny baby hands reaches for Enjolras and he takes it, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Grantaire's surprised when Hugo doesn't attempt to shift out of his arms with Enjolras so close, instead just resting his head on Grantaire's shoulder so he can peek out at Monty and Babet.

“...Like one of the orphans people can adopt?”

“Yes,” Enjolras turns his attention back to him, “He had nowhere else to be placed, so he’s with us now.”

Montparnasse just smirks, dropping onto the arm of Jehan’s chair, “Jesus Christ, I knew you two were into the heteronormative domestic shit, but I didn’t think you’d go so far as to adopt a baby.”

“Monty...” Jehan warns, but there’s a smile on their lips, probably finding it endearing as they tend to do when Montparnasse does anything. Babet, on the other hand, picks him up straight from Grantaire’s arms, holding him up by the hips and peering into his eyes. The whole thing sets Grantaire on edge; he knows Babet has a daughter of his own and won’t drop or hurt him, but the man has always rubbed him the wrong way. It's been that way since they met and he was just the quiet, surly South African guy who worked with Monty who would scowl whenever he’d come in for a tattoo, when he, Monty and Sous would come to protests for no reason other than incite violence for Monty's weird form of flirtatious pigtail pulling rather than do anything useful.

Hugo doesn’t flinch. Instead, one of his tiny hands reaches forward, and yanks at one of Babet’s dreadlocks, hard. Babet yelps loudly, dropping him into Montparnasse’s lap, rubbing at his scalp. Hugo giggles, clapping when Sous lets out a big, booming laugh, finding Babet in pain hilarious.

Montparnasse grins, smacking a kiss to Hugo’s cheek. “I think I’ll like this kid.”


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they have to switch trains at Étoile Hugo is asleep, passed out and drooling against Enjolras’ chest. He doesn’t even wake up as they make the walk home, despite the cold. Grantaire flips the hood of his coat – nice, new, and made of dark yellow wool – over his little head to protect him from the wind, and Enjolras looks at him like he truly did something astonishing, instead of just wanting the kid to not get sick.

“Did you buy him the jacket?” Grantaire asks, trying to distract him.

“The one he was wearing was clearly for spring and barely fit him, so I threw it away before we came. I just ran to Monoprix, it’s not big deal.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with something a little more... bougie.”

Enjolras makes a face, “I grew up with that, I really don’t want to put him through not being allowed to be a kid because his shoes are Chanel.”

“Still...”

“It was 6:45 pm on a Thursday, and I was in a rush,” He shrugs, tucking some curls behind his ear, “Most baby stores are closed. I don’t like buying fast fashion, you know that, but with baby clothing I have no idea where I’d even _start_. Buying things for myself is hard enough, and spending a ton of money on something he’s going to wear for only a few months when he’s not even my kid seems dumb.” 

Hugo smacks his lips in his sleep, nuzzling in close to his chest. Enjolras rests his chin on his head and the sight is enough to make something in Grantaire ache.

“You can start looking into it tomorrow, I’m sure,” Grantaire murmurs, punching in the digicode to their building, “Then you can buy him some weird biodegradable onesies along with the cloth diapers I’m sure you’re going to make him wear.”

“Actually, with the chemicals and water needed to fertilize cotton and the need to launder the cloth, that-”

“Did you actually research whether or not it was a good idea to use cloth diapers?’

“Just a quick search, nothing thorough.”

Grantaire snorts, completely unsurprised. 

He is surprised to find their flat already has baby stuff in it, though. In the living room there’s an Ikea box with a picture of a high chair on the side, and a few pairs of pajamas hanging from a drying rack in the living room. Enjolras snatches a pair and Grantaire follows to their bedroom, finding an air mattress set up in the corner against the bookshelves. Grantaire blinks at it as Enjolras lies Hugo on their bed to strip him out of his little jeans and shirt to replace them with pajamas, before lowering him down on it, coving him with a blanket and ushering Grantaire out of the room.

“When did that happen?”

“It’s why I was late,” He says quietly, moving away from the door and into the living room, “I didn’t want to leave him alone in a queen bed in the guest room. It didn’t seem safe, so I ran to Ikea and Monoprix to buy some things. Salome let me take her car.” 

“...She let you _drive_?”

“Oh, no, she’s too smart for that,” Enjolras laughs, propping his feet up in Grantaire’s lap when they both flop down on the couch, “She just came with and helped me pick out some things, since she has a kid of her own and knows what’s worth it. I couldn’t find anything for toddlers that wasn’t an actual bed and under a hundred euro since we needed a mattress, but I figure this on the floor is better than anything else. This way he can’t fall off the end and we can hear him if he wakes up, since we don’t have a monitor. Tomorrow we can buy the rest of what we need.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at that, “The rest?”

Enjolras looks a little sheepish, “I only bought him a few things, like the high chair for the kitchen, and some clothing for him, since he only had two outfits and the really bad coat. Some other stuff, mostly essentials.”

“And disposable diapers.”

“Of course,” Enjolra rolls his eyes, “Do you really think I’d want to deal with you whining about having to clean them? Not to mention you’d probably find the articles I found about environmental impact and I’d really have to argue with you about _diapers._ ”

Grantaire can see his point.

“Do you want help with the high chair? I mean, we should probably put it together now, since he's going to need it in the morning.”

Enjolras grins at him.

 

Grantaire doesn’t wake up to screaming in the middle of the night, to his shock. It’s 7:48am when a loud thwack comes from the corner and he rolls out of bed to see what Hugo has gotten into, leaving Enjolras to sleep. He finds him sitting up, one of Grantaire’s old art history textbooks pulled from a low shelf.

“Huh, you sleep through the night," He grunts, half asleep, "Thanks for that.”

Hugo smacks his hand down on the open book, “Bah!”

“Shhh. Enj is still sleeping.”

He just smiles at Grantaire, and smacks the book’s page again.

“Van Gogh, huh?”

Hugo flips about two hundred pages forward, and then looks up at Grantaire with a frown.

“Cézanne? You into post-impressionists that much?” He grabs the book, snapping it shut and setting it on the shelf, “I always liked Rousseau better when it came to the whole movement. I know people called his work childish but what the fuck does that even mean, you know?”

Hugo claps. Grantaire hikes him up on his hip, making a face when he feels how swollen his diaper is.

“Look, I haven’t changed a diaper since my niece was about six months, but if you don’t pee on me, I think I can manage, and we’ll all be a lot more comfortable.”

Hugo pats his cheek with a smile, so he takes that as an agreement.

 

Once he’s clean and dry with no mishaps, Grantaire brings him into their kitchen to get something in the kid for breakfast.

Hugo lets out a little ‘ooh,’ and babbles on as they enter, pointing at the table.

“Yeah I know, it’s huge,” Grantaire yawns, starting coffee one handed, “I’m actually pretty sure grand-père and grand-mère Enjolras were photographed for some magazine thanks to it. Bourgeoisie Monthly, or something. You should see his family's distaste when they see how we've painted it though. The navy on the cabinets is too much for them, I think.”

The kitchen table is covered in bags, and Grantaire isn’t surprised to find its all the baby stuff when he peeks inside. He's honestly not sure what Enj mean when he says he needs more stuff, since he looks like he bought half the store. 

“I should call him a crazy person, but this is actually pretty standard for him, you know? Can't half-ass anything.”

Grantaire puts Hugo in the new high chair to look through everything. There’s child plates and spoons and a few sippy cups and bottles, along with an assortment of prepackaged baby and toddler food. It’s nice to know he can apparently eat real food, but it’s mostly snacks or weird little prepackaged meals, and nothing really breakfast like.

“Can you eat eggs? Like is that a thing?”

Hugo looks at him like he’s an idiot, his thumb in his mouth, which... fair.

“I would think so? I mean, they’re soft, and if I don’t season them it should be fine?” Grantaire frowns, “Maybe I should google?”

Hugo sighs around his thumb. Also fair.

Google informs him that they are, in fact, fine for babies, as long as they’re not runny, and Grantaire scrambles him eggs and chops up a sizable piece of roasted sweet potato that was in the fridge from two nights ago when Eponine came over. He can also drink milk, apparently, and Grantaire gives him one of the sippy cups full of it after it’s washed. As he eats Grantaire puts the baby stuff away, shoving all the utensils and kitchen stuff in the dishwasher and starting it, and the rest in their cabinets. He drinks a second cup of coffee as he starts attacking the small pile of clothing, tugging the tags off and throwing it in the washing machine to get all the store grime off it. He notices some of the bags have things he wouldn’t even think about buying; baby safe body shampoo, teethers, a thermometer for the bath water, children’s cold and allergy medicine, and some sort of laundry soap claiming it’s safe for sensitive skin.

“He really did think of everything, didn’t he?”

Hugo just squeezes his eggs in his fist before shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

“I mean, you’re a kid and need tons of shit, I guess. It makes sense that the man that researches where to buy coffee for three weeks would think to buy everything he could.” 

Hugo throws a piece of sweet potato on the floor.

“Hey, I’m the one that has to clean that,” Grantaire complains, picking it up. He grabs another piece from his tray and slides it into Hugo’s mouth, watching as he scrunches his face us and chews with his three teeth. He seems to like it, as he’s shoving two more in his mouth when Enjolras stumbles into the kitchen, looking exhausted.

“Did you have to wake up with him at all? You look like you barely slept.”

He shakes his head.

“I hate sleeping in,” Enjolras groans, “you know I always feel even worse afterwards.”

“It’s like… nine. That doesn’t count as sleeping in.”

Enjolras just shrugs.

“Do you believe this guy?” He asks Hugo, “9am on a Friday off and he’s calling it sleeping in. Makes me wonder why I was in love with him for years before I ever did anything about it.”

“What are you saying to him?”

“Huh?”

Enjolras raises his eyebrows at him from where he's adding sugar to his coffee, “You’re speaking Arabic.”

“Oh,” He blinks at him, “I didn’t even notice.”

Which is odd. Grantaire rarely uses it outside of speaking to his Aunt, and is always self conscious about it. His Arabic is a strange, bastardized version; a mix of the Gulf Coast Kuwaiti from his childhood and Palestinian slang he picked up from his cousins as a teen in Lyon. That’s enough to get him weird looks and awkward questions whenever he slips into it, so he just… doesn’t.

“I think it’s nice, for him,” Enj says, smiling fondly, “To hear something familiar.”

Grantaire watches him eat. When Hugo notices he turns, and with a big smile, offers Grantaire a fist full of drool, sweet potato and eggs. 

“Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I totally made them live at Place Victor-Hugo, because I'm weak like that.
> 
> Also, for those unfamiliar: Monoprix is a chain store in France. They sell food and home goods and clothing. You could probably compare it to Marks and Spencer or maybe Target, in the US, except smaller scale, and they don't sell furniture.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, but this took me forever and I felt bad. writers block is real, y'all.
> 
> Frank Ribery is a professional French footballer who was in a car accident that left his face somewhat disfigured. He's also a somewhat questionable human being, so that's why I made the reference.

Things go on pretty much as they always have, except now Graintare’s days include a 13 month old.

Even that’s not much of a hardship. Hugo was, to his surprise, nothing like his niece. He sleeps with the same vigor as Grantaire, is happy to play with toys on his own in his playpen in Grantaire’s studio while he paints, and charms people from his stroller whenever they go out. The only time he fusses is when he’s hungry, and even then it’s usually some whiny, whimpery thing, instead of an all out cry, pitiful enough that the second time Grantaire was around for it the woman at the jewish patisserie they frequent had half a bagel in Hugo’s hands before the tears could come.

They get along swimmingly, though if Grantaire gets along fine with the baby, Enjolras is completely taken by him.

“I’m a little in awe,” Grantaire admits, watching Enjolras answer emails on his phone as Hugo watches TV with his head against his leg, “I didn’t know you had it in you to like kids.”

“I like kids.”

“You’re intimidated by my kids.”

Enjolras frowns, “Babies are different than a room of unruly fifteen year olds who won’t listen.”

Gratiare snorts, “They listen.”

“They listen to you, R.”

“They have to our they get in trouble. Kids don’t actually like me.”

Enjolras frowns at him, “They adore you, R. They act like you’re the cool big brother they’ll never have. Hugo adores you, and Gavroche-”

“Eh, Gav doesn’t count, and Hugo just likes me because we feed him-”

“R,” Enjolras says, getting him to look at him. He collects Hugo into his arms and drops him into Grantaire’s lap, the baby immediately snuggling in and resting his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, “He adores you. You’re great with kids. I’m not going to argue about it with you when the evidence is right there in front of me and currently in your arms.” 

Then Enjolras leaves the room, muttering something about him being stupid.

“Buh?” Hugo says, blinking owlishly at him, his hair in a million directions.

Grantaire grins, rubbing his cheek against his curls. 

“I don’t get it either, Lapin.”

 

Four weeks into their 'only a week' of custody Grantaire’s got Hugo holding on to his fingers, trudging along on unsteady feet from one side of the salon to the other when the door opens. He hears rather than sees Enjolras leave the kitchen, his steps faltering when he gets to the entryway.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Julien, don’t be rude-”

Hugo drops onto his diapered butt, looking up at Grantaire with wide eyes at the new, strange voice. He scurries to his bunny, lying forgotten behind the armchair in front of their fireplace, and hides his face in it just seconds before Gaspard Enjolras enters.

“Ah, Mahmoud,” Gaspard says distastefully as Grantaire drops to sit on the floor, “I see you’re still here.”

“Rent free, even,” He says cheerfully, causing Gaspard’s lips to purse. He was clearly hoping he’d have forgotten the comments he made about Grantaire last time he visited, “Why do you even still have a key? This house isn’t yours anymore.”

His expression goes even darker, somehow, to Grantaire’s satisfaction. The fact that he was passed over by their grandmother and Julien had gotten the flat was a sore spot. Enjolras had wanted to sell the place, when he got it. It was too much for just the two of them, they didn’t need four bedrooms and all that space, his grand-père’s flat or no. Then, his cousin had turned into a self-righteous prick about it being the family’s place and not Julien’s and if he intended to sell, he’d see him in court for his share of the profits.

Grantaire knew money didn’t mean shit to Enj, one of the benefits of not growing up poor, but his boyfriend could be petty when he wanted to be. So he held onto it, had Grantaire moved in, and let him turn one of the rooms into an art studio. Gaspard Enjolras wasn’t pleased to see Julien’s _bohemian friend_ (and who the hell even called painters that anymore?) live in his grandparent’s house, to say the least, but his Enjolras was of the mindset that his cousin could go fuck himself.

 

Hugo takes this opportunity to crawl back from around the armchair, scooting close to Enjolras and lifting his arms, demanding to be picked up. He looks at Gaspard warily, his head on Enjolras’ shoulder; they look nothing alike, and Gaspard just radiates a certain attitude that Grantaire is sure is jealousy. He’s never met the Enjolras family outside of a few of his cousins and Julien’s favorite black sheep uncle – thank god – but he has seen pictures, and while Enjolras has his mother’s good looks and distinctly Scandinavian coloring, Gaspard is short and dark haired and looks like Franck Ribery without the excuse of a car accident.

“This is the child, then?”

“Hugo,” Enjolras acknowledges, “His name’s not ‘the child.’”

Gaspard stares at him with an ugly sort of look on his face.

“He’s not as dark as I thought he’d be. He could almost pass for French.”

Grantaire digs his fingers into his thighs, knowing what he’s inferring. Julian, to his infinite credit, doesn't violently react, instead just looks at Hugo with a sigh.

“Go by Dad, okay?”

When Julien sets Hugo down and he scoots to Grantaire on his knees, crawling into his lap. Grantaire blinks at him; he’s never, ever called himself ‘dad,’ but judging from the look on Gaspard's face it was the right thing to say.

“My mother heard about this… farce you seem to be living and encouraged me to see what I could do about it. I told her it was pointless and it seems like I was correct, if you’re calling that child yours.”

“All it would take is a few phone calls-”

“He doesn’t even have a proper-”

“-And he’ll make a fine Enjolras, I’m sure,” He says, and Grantaire can hear Gaspard grind his teeth from meters away.

“He’ll be the only boy,” Enjolras says, sounding a little gleeful, “And I think passing on the family name is important, no?”

“I knew this was useless,” He huffed, stomping towards the entryway, “if you ever come to your senses, you know where to find me,” he nearly shouts, slamming the door behind him.

“Prick,” Enjolras hisses, and Hugo laughs his odd donkey laugh.

Grantaire doesn’t comment, just like he doesn’t comment when he comes home from school the next day to find a locksmith replacing their deadbolt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not for the life of me finish this. I had this last bit scene done, but I wanted more to it, but somehow every time I sat down to write I ended up with something else, including Monty and Jehan's adventures in babysitting.

Grantaire can’t stop thinking about it. 

He knows it was just a one off comment, something to get under Gaspard’s skin, some dig about the family name only an idiot would care about. But he can’t stop.

A week later, when Grantaire is busy with the student art show he’s putting on and Enjolras is prepping a case to go to court, Monty and Jehan volunteer to take Hugo for a Friday they don’t have to work.

(To the shock of everyone, Montparnasse is a natural. When Jehan asked, he had waggled his eyebrows, and that was that.)

When they’re gone, Hugo bundled up in his coat and scarf and waving a chubby hand at Enjolras as he shut the door on them, the house feels weirdly empty. It’s the first time in months they’ve both been home and he’s not been there Grantaire attempts to sort through work and plan how he wants to arrange the show, but finds himself hating the silence. It let’s his mind wander, and while the things he thinks about aren’t bad, they do unsettle him.

When they return him, safe and sound asleep in his stroller, Grantaire easily hauls him up and moves to deposit him into his bed, relieved for the distraction as Enjolras sees their friends out. 

Enjolras finds him in the room they’ve set as Hugo’s, even though it’s still mostly a guest room. Hugo’s sleeping, sprawled out, and Grantaire is sitting on the bed, watching.

“Getting sentimental on us all?” He asks softly, and Grantaire looks at him, before looking back at Hugo.

“You called me dad.”

Enjolras frowns, “When?”

“When Gaspard was here. And I know it was just to mess with him, but I can’t stop thinking about how easily he came to me.”

Enjolras shrugs a little helplessly.

“It’s not the same, what happened to him and me-”

“I know-”

“But I know what it’s like to not fit in anywhere and just have people take care of you because they’re obligated. I know how shitty it is to not have people care in the right way because you were just… thrust upon them. And I sure as shit know what it's like to have people look at you like you don't even belong in their country even though it's the only thing you really know.”

Enjolras let out a shaky breath. That was about as close as he had ever heard Grantaire straight up acknowledge the messy parts of his childhood while sober. 

“R-”

“We need to get him a real crib,” Grantaire murmurs, looking at the collapsible travel crib they’ve been using. An upgrade from the air mattress, for sure, but still not a real bed, “And - I don’t know - maybe I’ll see about renting a studio somewhere near. I probably shouldn’t have so many chemicals and fumes around him even with the windows open. Maybe Rieux will know someone-”

“Grantaire-”

“I know you want to do it, you can’t lie for shit so I’d be able tell even if you try,” He says, looking at his boyfriend, “just… I think I want that too. I know I’ll probably fuck up more than once, like I usually do-”

"Mahmoud," Enjolras glares at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“We both will,” he amends, “You know it. But I think this one will be okay even if we do.”

Enjolras nodded, “I think he’s been ours since the moment I saw him.”

“He has.”

Enjolras smiles: big, blinding, and happier than Grantaire's ever seen him.

"Anything you wanted to do before you become a dad?"

Grantaire snorts, rolling his eyes but feeling his chest clench with how happy he is. 

"Too late for that."


End file.
